


The Mirror of the Stars

by estelraca



Category: Onmyouji | The Yin-Yang Master (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: When Mitsumushi comes to tell Hiromasa that Seimei needs help, Hiromasa rushes to Seimei's residence, unsure exactly what it is he'll be facing.
Relationships: Abe no Seimei/Minamoto no Hiromasa
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40
Collections: Fic In A Box





	The Mirror of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryme_intrinseca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryme_intrinseca/gifts).



> Warning for brief descriptions of body horror. I really adore these movies, and was glad to get to write a treat for you featuring them. Sorry it's late; this year has been its usual self, and I wasn't able to get it done on time.

_The Mirror of the Stars_

  


Mitsumushi comes to find Hiromasa while he's falling asleep during a court briefing.

He really shouldn't have been falling asleep. He's more mature than that now. But facing down multiple threats to the people of the Empire has really only driven home how utterly _boring_ the political maneuvering is.

Which is good. It's nice when things are boring and nobody is dying. And Hiromasa has some influence now, having been instrumental twice in the salvation of the dynasty. He can actually _affect_ matters now in a way he couldn't before, and he tries to use that political clout to positive effect.

But sometimes he'd much rather stay up late figuring out a new melody on his flute, and if that means he falls asleep during briefings, well... he could say he'll try not to do so in the future, but he tends not to lie to himself about much.

The fall of little feet on his face is enough to startle him, but not into full wakefulness. Waking only occurs when a voice that is decidedly inhuman—that doesn't quite seem _real;_ that is, Hiromasa thinks, the best approximation a butterfly's body can make of his name—shouts directly into his ear.

Even a butterfly's shout isn't terribly loud, but it's enough to finish his ascent to full wakefulness. He jerks upright, startling the people to either side of him.

“Ah...” He inclines his head in a shallow bow, forcing his mind to remember ranks and current favored status in the court. He holds his hand up, allowing Mitsumushi to settle onto it. “It seems I am summoned. I should attend, to ensure there's no additional cataclysm brewing.”

There's a general mutter of discontent, but the Emperor himself waves for Hiromasa to step out, and Hiromasa bows low as he edges his way out of the audience chamber.

Perhaps one day he won't be able to use that excuse. Perhaps one day he, too, will fall out of favor. It's happened to others, he knows—to others that the Emperor swore to love with all his heart, where for Hiromasa he has only sworn to returning favor for duties done.

If it is another danger to the Emperor rising, what will Hiromasa do? The Emperor is not a terrible man, but he is not a kind one, either. Hiromasa has been trying to help him achieve something like kindness and something like a good reign—he is wise enough to have parsed that the two are not necessarily the same thing—but sometimes he wonders. He supports the Emperor because he is supposed to, because he has sworn to do so, because the Emperor is their Lord, but if he didn't... if he could separate the Emperor's life from the lives of everyone else who will suffer if the Emperor falls... if he saw the world as Seimei sees it...

He does not, though. He _cannot_ , and he's not sure he would want to even if he could. Seimei's world is wonderful and beautiful, but for all that beauty there is also horror and terror, and Hiromasa is glad to see it only from Seimei's side.

As soon as they have a semblance of privacy, no other courtiers in eye or earshot, Mitsumuchi flutters from his finger and falls into her human form. “You must go to Seimei's house. Now.” Her voice trembles with some emotion.

“To Seimei's house?” Hiromasa's brow furrows in confusion. “Is Seimei not here? I thought he was on the palace grounds, seeing to some claim of a curse—”

Mitsumushi reaches out, and her fingers press against Hiromasa's lips. “Go to Seimei's house. Go to _Seimei_. He needs you. Now.”

And without another word Mitsumushi returns to her butterfly form, fluttering up to land on his upper arm. Her antennae tremble; her wings shiver as though in an invisible wind.

Something like fear twists in Hiromasa's guts, but he has faced fear before. He has died before, facing down enemies far stronger than he is. He will not allow himself to falter, not without some good reason.

He takes perhaps five minutes to write a few missives explaining his absence from court for rest of the day and sees that they will be delivered. Then he summons a driver and begins the trek to Seimei's house.

He knows when they reach the bridge that Seimei considers the edge of his territory. He knows because he has the route memorized, and the clatter of the carriage's wheels on the wood is unmistakable. He knows because there is a sharp snort from the horse, a nervous whinny and the sound of hooves clattering. He knows because there is a shout of terror from the driver, and the sound of feet running past the carriage window, in the opposite direction from Seimei's house.

And he knows because the magical curtain is like a hammer against his chest, a thick burst of power that reminds him far too much of the magic that killed him, once.

Hiromasa draws a breath, steadying himself. He didn't run from dangerous foes; he doesn't intend to be frightened by a friend. Smoothing his robes and checking that his hat is still straight, he steps from the carriage and out onto the bridge.

It doesn't take much coaxing to turn the horse around and send it clomping back towards the city. Hiromasa can see the driver standing, frozen in fear or horror or something else, some twenty paces up the road. He has faith the man will be able to catch the beast and keep it from getting into any harm.

Leaving Hiromasa free to continue forward. There's no reason he shouldn't, after all. The day is beautiful. It will be nice to visit Seimei's garden—a space that Hiromasa knows many in the court find unsuitably wild, but that Hiromasa has found solace and comfort in many a time.

Seimei's estate is the standard size for a nobleman, which makes it ridiculously large for the number of people supposedly living there. Hiromasa knows that those on Seimei's official roster are only a fraction of the people actually in residence, though. He places his finger beneath Mitsumushi, waiting to see if she'll climb onto it.

When she does, he lifts Mitsumushi to eye height. The little butterfly is still trembling. “What's happening here—is it due to an enemy attack?”

The butterfly's head dips down, then side to side, and Hiromasa sighs.

“Flap your wings once for yes, twice for no.” That should be easier than reading a butterfly's body language, though he isn't sure why Mitsumushi isn't donning her human guise again. “Is this due to an enemy attack?”

Mitsumushi flaps her wings furiously, little feet dancing lightly against Hiromasa's finger.

“All right... that's clearly the wrong question.” Hiromasa ponders what might be the _right_ question. “Is there another magic-user here besides Seimei?”

Mitsumushi's antennae flatten against her head, her small black eyes glaring at him.

Hiromasa winces. “Is there an _enemy_ here on the grounds?”

Mitsumushi's whole body seems to relax, and she flaps her wings twice.

“Is Seimei here?”

One flap, and Hiromasa starts to feel more confident.

“Is Seimei...” Hiromasa gestures to the bridge, to the invisible point halfway across where it feels like the world is going to end. “Doing that?”

One more flap of Mitsumushi's wings.

“Is it dangerous for me to go in?” Hiromasa knows that's a difficult question, but it's also important.

Two slow, hesitant flaps are his answer, Mitsumushi clearly not at all confident in her answer.

“If I stay out here, is Seimei in danger?”

This time the flap is immediate and vigorous.

Hiromasa lowers his finger to his shoulder, giving Mitsumushi a chance to return to her perch there. She does so swiftly, huddling down as though his robes will be her only protection.

If Seimei is in danger, then it doesn't matter if it's dangerous or not to go forward. Hiromasa would walk through a wall of fire if it meant protecting Seimei from danger.

They enter through the _seimon_ , the main gate. Hiromasa considers circling around to the _uramon_ , but he isn't sure there would be any benefit to coming in through the back gate. Seimei is meticulous in his protections. He would know someone was coming, and most likely who, no matter which entrance Hiromasa used. Besides which, Hiromasa isn't _trying_ to sneak up on Seimei. He's just trying to figure out what's going on.

The garden is as beautiful as ever. There are more trees than a proper estate should have, but they're scattered about in such a way that they draw the eye deeper and deeper into the green rather than feeling cluttered or overbearing. They are meant to entice people deeper into the forest, off the path, to places where mere mortal steps aren't meant to traverse—

Hiromasa gives himself a shake, stopping his forward momentum and freezing. He doesn't want to be heading into the garden. He wants to be heading towards Seimei's _shinden_. That's where Seimei should be, right? If something's going on, if Seimei is working against some kind of dark magic, will he have secluded himself in the _moya_ at the center of the household, or will he have retreated to one of the side pavilions?

Hiromasa really needs to learn more about magic.

“Seimei's working against a spell.” Hiromasa whispers the words to Mitsumushi. “Is that right?”

Mitsumushi's wings flutter weakly, once. Her grip on Hiromasa's over-robe seems to grow more intense by the minute.

“A spell that he's trying to undo?” Hiromasa looks behind himself, at the _seimon_ in the eastern wall. Would it matter to the spell east or west, north or south? Hiromasa is fairly certain it should, that Seimei has made off-hand comments about things like that, but he can't remember exactly what.

Mitsumushi's wings flutter, once, twice—not in answer to his question, Hiromasa realizes as they move a third and fourth time. Mitsumushi flutters off his clothing and over to a beautiful flower that twines up the nearest tree. The petals are a deep, rich blue that Hiromasa knows many in the court would kill to achieve. The little butterfly settles on one, sticks her head into the flower, and presumably begins to drink.

Hiromasa had not been expecting that, and he watches Mitsumushi for a few startled moments. “Mitsumushi? Are you... is there...”

The little butterfly pulls her head out and flutters to the next flower up, repeating the process.

Hiromasa feels a shiver creep up his spine, but he refuses to give into it. Seimei needs him, so he's going to find Seimei.

He doesn't know enough about magic to say if Seimei will be in one of the side pavilions or in the main building. He can see the tsuridono surrounded by the half-tame garden, one overlooking the pond, the other a theatre of vegetation. He's sat in both at night playing his flute for Seimei. The urge to do so again is surprisingly strong, and he finds himself turning towards the eastern one—the nearer one—before he forces himself to stop.

He can see clearly that Seimei isn't there. He needs to find Seimei before he can possibly play any music for the man. That's only _sensible_.

He forces his steps towards the shinden. It's the most reasonable place to look for Seimei—the place he tends to welcome visitors, and he will know that a visitor has come. The thought is comforting, and Hiromasa finds himself repeating it, mumbling the words out loud. “I am a visitor, and he will welcome me where he welcomes visitors.”

The pressure against his chest seems to increase with each step he takes. This is not a place for mortal men to tread. This is a place designed for half-beasts, for half-immortals, for half-mad men with nothing left to lose. Hiromasa is a courtier and a musician and in favor with the Emperor, and he—

He—

He _belongs_ here.

With a sense of physical relief the pressure compelling him explodes against that certainty. Hiromasa has been here many, many times, and he _belongs_ here in a way that he doesn't think any other living mortal does. Seimei has welcomed him here. He has helped Seimei recover here, and been helped by Seimei in his own recovery in these halls. He may not have rooms here, may never have been invited into the _moya_ that protects all the precious goods of the household including Seimei's body in sleep, but he _belongs_ here. And perhaps one day...

Well.

Seimei is an incredibly handsome man, and Hiromasa has made his intentions and attractions clear. But he will not pressure anyone with his courtship, and he is content enough with Seimei's friendship.

He walks up the steps of the shinden without incidence, passing the places where he has been waylaid by well-crafted shikigami in the past. There is nothing there now.

Even as he thinks that, a door opens in the western pavilion and familiar figures come pouring out. They smile and wave, holding up cards and dice, offering for him to join in the game.

Hiromasa finds himself swaying and leans against the rail behind him, glad that the wood is solid, the construction sturdy. He could join them. That would be easy enough. He's tried to do it before, both before and after he knew that they were Seimei's constructs.

Seimei.

He needs to get to Seimei. That is the most important task he has before him.

His steps are steady again as he continues forward. If Seimei were seeing to his people in a formal setting, there is the raised dais on which he would sit; there, shoved out of the way, is the curtain that would protect his countenance from lesser eyes.

Has Seimei ever properly sat in state? It's hard for Hiromasa to imagine it, harder still to imagine who would come to beg a boon of the great onmyouji in such a traditional way. Perhaps in the palace proper, in Seimei's offices, where he is given staff and the same set of expectations as everyone else.

Which is foolish, really. Seimei _isn't_ like everyone else. Seimei is special.

He's a hero.

He's a man who will save a child, not because that child may be the next Emperor, but because that child is a _child_ , and all children deserve a chance to live.

Hiromasa raises a hand to his face, wiping away sweat. He shouldn't be sweating. It's not very warm right now, the layers of his robes welcome against the chill in the air.

Seimei will know what's going on. He always seems to know what's going on, or if he doesn't, he knows how to _find out_ what's going on. It's one of the reasons Hiromasa loves and trusts him so much.

Hirmoasa gives his head a shake and keeps pressing forward. Every shinden is different, sometimes even between one visit and the next depending on where screens and curtains are situated, but there are certain constants. The moya is there, the four sturdy, immovable walls painted white and then covered in intricate designs that would scandalize many of the more conservative members of court.

Will Seimei be there? He is a treasure, too, after all. Except... no, Hiromasa doesn't think Seimei would be there. Not just because Seimei considers himself no better and no worse than many other people, but because Seimei is _hurting_.

He knows it, suddenly, to the bottom of his soul.

Seimei is hurt, and that is why everything is so difficult right now. They are two halves of the same coin, after all. They are two stars falling together through the sky, and if Seimei is falling faster, it is up to Hiromasa to pull him back.

He knows where Seimei is.

He turns to the eastern pavilion, slipping down the covered corridor, his steps slow and measured. Seimei is there, he knows. Past the artfully arranged bits of greenery, past the sand with designs that are meant to trap the eye and free the mind, past the latticework of a screen—

There is a hissing, mewling sound, and Hiromasa pauses, his hand on the screen. “Seimei?”

“Don't.” Seimei's voice is twisted, too deep, too rough. “Don't.”

“What's going on?” Hiromasa doesn't retreat, his hand still on the screen. “Mitsumushi came to get me, but now she's busy drinking nectar. Everyone else—everyone is _too_ normal in a very _abnormal_ circumstance. So please tell me what's going on.”

Seimei makes a choking sound that Hiromasa eventually realizes is a rough laugh. “The spell. I thought I had it. I thought I understood it. But—” Seimei's voice twists into a series of barking yips. He gasps, and his words are lisped when next he speaks. “I seem to have misjudged.”

Hiromasa frowns. “That's not a full explanation.”

A low, whimpering whine is his only answer.

Hiromasa doesn't wait any longer. Perhaps if Seimei had been able to ask him again not to move forward—but Seimei couldn't. And Hiromasa is not going to lose his friend without doing everything in his power to save him.

The screen shifts, revealing a small tatami-covered room. The accouterments of the onmyouji's trade—paper, ink, calligraphy brushes, scrolls showing the moons and stars, a little bowl of something that looks far too much like blood—are scattered about the room.

And in the far corner, his face turned away from the light, is a figure that must be Seimei. That Hiromasa _knows_ is Seimei, on a deep, visceral level, even though very little about his physical appearance is as it should be.

His hands are a mass of fur and claws, half-bestial appendages that Hiromasa doubts could draw even if Seimei knew the figures he wanted. His face—oh, his face. Hiromasa has dreamed of kissing those lips, and now the lips are bloody, a fox's teeth sticking out, patchy fur sprouting in disarray.

Seimei's robes drape oddly around his body, and Hiromasa isn't surprised to see that Seimei's feet are twisted into a fox's long, quadrupedal form, or that a red tail sticks out alongside them.

“Child of the fox...” Hiromasa breathes out the words, remembering all the stories he has been told of Seimei, remembering those who warned him before he went to Seimei for help.

Seimei whines, a canine sound of agony, and his ears twist up into a fox's red-tipped points.

Hiromasa's eyes widen, and he rushes to his friend's side. “Seimei!”

The red ears twitch, and then fade back into more human-looking ears. Hiromasa stares, not sure what to make of that.

“Hiro... masa...” Seimei cuts his lips again on his mismatched teeth, blood flowing down his chin, matting some of the red fur there.

“I'm here. I have you.” Without hesitation Hiromasa gathers Seimei into his arms, holds him tight as he has on one other occasion. He brushes hair away from Seimei's face, the black strands mixed with red. “What can I do?”

“You...” Seimei draws a breath, and Hiromasa tries not to consider how much it looks like things are _shifting_ in Seimei's chest as he does, rearranging again and again. “You... know me.”

“Of course I do.” Hiromasa finds himself straightening, drawing up to his full height at the implication in the words. “I would know you no matter what curse you were under. Two stars together, Seimei. Defenders of the Empire. Nothing in heaven or earth could keep me from recognizing you.”

Seimei smiles, and his breath comes easier in his throat. His teeth don't look quite so terrible and out of place anymore.

“That's all I have to do?” Hiromasa feels laughter bubbling up in his throat, and he buries his head against Seimei's shoulder, breathing in Seimei's scent. There is a slightly stronger musk to it now, a hint of fox, but it's still incontrovertibly Seimei. “I know you, Abe no Seimei. I name you, and I know you, and I call you to walk at my side once more.”

Seimei gasps again, bucking in Hiromasa's arms. The mangled paws at the end of his arms stretch and shift, and fingers with too-sharp nails are holding tight to Hiromasa's robes.

“More.” Seimei stares into Hiromasa's eyes. His pupils shift between vertical slits and normal human eyes, between a yellow-amber that no human could possibly have and the beautiful brown that is Seimei's normal color.

“You are a dancer. No, not just a dancer—you are such a dancer that you can dance with the gods and the spirits as one of their equals.” Hiromasa grabs Seimei's hand, lifts the fingers to his lips. He kisses each one, as he's dreamed of kissing Seimei's fingers and never quite dared. Fur disappears under his lips, becoming human skin again. “You are an onmyouji without peer. You are kind, though no one would believe it. You are clever, and far too aware of it for your own good or the good of anyone else.”

Seimei laughs, and it is much more _his_ laugh than the strangled noise that had come before. “No such thing. Too many people at court need to be aware there is someone more clever about than them.”

“Well, since you _are_ more clever than most of us, I can't complain too stridently.” Hiromasa smiles, raising his left hand to stroke Seimei's face. He looks almost human again, though there is still something... off about the shape beneath the robes. “You are Abe no Seimei, and I am Minamoto no Hiromasa, and we are two halves of the same soul.”

Without allowing himself time to think or doubt, Hiromasa leans forward, pressing his lips to Seimei's. The copper taste of blood floods his mouth, and a moment later Seimei is kissing him back, Seimei's tongue darting into Hiromasa's mouth, Seimei's lips pressing hard against Hiromasa.

When Hiromasa allows his own tongue to tentatively slide across Seimei's teeth, they are a human's teeth once more, smooth and clean.

Pulling back from the kiss, Hiromasa studies Seimei. He looks as he normally does, though his cheeks are flushed, his skin clammy with sweat.

“Hold those thoughts.” Seimei raises one finger to press against Hiromasa's forehead. “Hold those thoughts tight, and don't let them go. I need to finish what I was working on.”

Hiromasa settles himself on the floor. He reaches inside his robe to touch his flute, not quite daring to take it out and potentially interrupt Seimei's working but needing the reassurance. What has he done? What's happening here that made it necessary?

Seimei works swiftly, as he usually does. He whispers the words of his spell, his voice carrying on the breeze like a butterfly's wings, soft and hard to predict. Before two minutes have passed he's enclosed himself in a five-pointed star, another drawn on a piece of paper at his feet.

Hiromasa can't make out the words that Seimei says next, but he feels the effects of them. He's thrown back against the wall, his hat knocked off in a wind that has no right to exist in an indoor space. All the papers that weren't bound together are fluttering slowly down to the ground in a haphazard fall of warm snow.

And Seimei is kneeling on the ground, his shoulders slumped, a mirror in front of him.

Hiromasa pulls himself to his feet, deciding to leave his hat for later. It may not be proper, but they've moved far beyond propriety right now. “Seimei?”

Seimei lifts his head, and his eyes are the right shade and shape, the smile on his face smug and satisfied. “The one and only.”

Hiromasa feels his shoulders slump in relief even as he shakes his head at Seimei's obvious pride. “And that?” He gestures to the mirror.

“That...” Seimei bends down and very gently picks up the mirror. It's a small hand mirror, the frame shades of silver, gold, and pearl, the glass impossibly polished. “Is the new physical form of a very intricate and interesting curse.”

“One that was directed at you?” Hiromasa starts running through the rather long list of people who might wish Seimei ill.

“No.” Seimei gives his head a shake. “One that was directed at another petty courtier. I'll need to find the caster, though. It's very impressive work.”

“What did it do?” Hiromasa tentatively steps towards the mirror, feeling both drawn to and repulsed by it.

“Reveals your true self for all to see.” Seimei flips the mirror so that the reflective surface shows Hiromasa's concerned face. “Or at least that's what I imagine the intent was. The result was a bit more... complicated. Or perhaps that's what the caster intended. Perhaps they knew that all people are a combination of their own internal beliefs and that which is reflected onto them by those they are surrounded with.”

Hiromasa frowns. He studies his reflection in the mirror, but he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. “I don't understand.”

Seimei shifts, coming into view over Hiromasa's shoulder. Except the face in the mirror is not Seimei's face, or the face of the kitsune-creature that Seimei had been twisted into. Somehow the face in the mirror is one-half human, and the other half a smooth, beautiful fox.

Seimei pulls the mirror away. “Truths are complicated. _Social_ truths are even more complicated. I imagine our caster intended to humiliate their target by showing him for the petty tyrant that he was. I don't imagine they intended him to change into a six foot tall oni-child, but that was what they achieved. And when I peeled the curse off of him... well...”

Understanding began to dawn. “Everyone at court talked of you as the half-fox onmyouji.”

Seimei nods. “And everyone is right, but the way they mean it and the way that is truth... well... I wasn't quite quick enough to contain the curse, to keep it from starting to manifest. If I'd had Aone still... but she more than earned her rest.”

“But...” Hiromasa grabs for the mirror, surprised when Seimei allows him to take it and look again. “All I see is myself.”

“Indeed.” Seimei's hand reaches out unexpectedly, touching Hiromasa's cheek. “You are a very rare beast, Hiromasa. How you see yourself, how others see you... there is little that you hide, and little that could be turned against you. And how you see _me_...”

Hiromasa lifts his eyes, feeling his face flush at the look on Seimei's face. “Of course I see you for what you are. We're paired, after all.”

Seimei laughs again, this time a quiet, contented chuckle. “I would not have imagined the day would end with someone kissing me back into my proper shape, but it's certainly not something I will complain about.”

The burning in Hiromasa's cheeks only intensified. “It... seemed like the proper thing to do at the time.” Why _had_ he elected to kiss Seimei? Yes, he's thought of it, but Seimei hasn't returned any of his advances. Surely he's just made things more awkward, though Seimei seems to be determined not to have it damage their relationship.

“I'm sure it was.” Seimei pulls the mirror from Hiromasa's fingers, setting it carefully aside before returning to stare into Hiromasa's eyes from far too close a distance. “Is it something you wish to do again?”

Hiromasa feels his eyes widen. “I... yes?” That shouldn't have been a question. He straightens, head held high. This is not the first time he has been propositioned, though it's certainly more straightforward and involves a great deal less poetry than the majority of times before. But perhaps the poetry has been in the actions they've already done, in the saving of a country and the welcome that Hiromasa has in this place so many fear. “Yes, I do—”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, doesn't get to try to find prettier, nicer words. Seimei's hands are on either side of his head, holding him tight, and Seimei's lips are pressed against his.

It's a harder, fiercer kiss than the one they shared while Seimei fought the curse. It's a kiss that holds over a year of hunger, and Hiromasa finds himself wondering _why_ , if Seimei has wanted this too, it took so long for them to get here.

Seimei pulls away, his lips red and wet and full from the pressure of the kiss. “I have tried to dissuade you, Hiromasa. To let you move on to better, less painful shores for your desires. But if this is where your heart lies—”

Hiromasa places his hand over Seimei's heart, though he doesn't feel much through the layers of clothing. “Really, Seimei? After all this, after all we've been through, you really thought...”

Seimei draws a breath and lets it out in a brief snort. “I'm clever. I'm not always smart. Now come here, twin star. I need a bath and I need my hair combed out, and I'm not letting you out of my sight for a bit, not until I'm sure I've captured every last scrap of that spell.”

“You know...” Hiromasa allows Seimei to pull him along. “You could just _ask_ me to undress with you. Like a normal person.”

“If I were a normal person, I'd make you wait a month while we bandied poems back and forth.”

“You've already apparently made me wait over a year.”

“I'm difficult. Ask anyone at court.” Seimei grins over his shoulder.

Hiromasa can't help smiling back.

Mitsumushi appears in the corridor ahead of them. She clasps her hands together, a grin appearing on her face. “You did it, Hiromasa.”

“I did it.” Hiromasa returns the little yokai's smile. “I didn't know what I was doing, but I did it.”

Seimei laughs. “Said like any true scion of compassion.”

Mitsumushi falls into step behind Hiromasa. “Where are we going?”

Hiromasa glances at Seimei.

Seimei doesn't pause. They march past the shinden and across to the western pavilion. “I would like a hot bath.”

The shikigami immediately scatter, apparently intent on their task. Mitsumushi steps forward, her eyes fixing on where Seimei is holding Hiromasa's hand.

Seimei smiles gently. “I think Hiromasa will make a good addition to our household. What do you think?”

Mitsumushi covers her mouth with her robe, though it doesn't hide her wide, full smile. “I think Hiromasa has very little idea what he's getting himself into.”

“I think you're right. But he's doing it with his eyes wide open and no hesitancy in his heart, and that...” Seimei shifts, sliding his arm around Hiromasa's waist in a very forward manner. Hiromasa really doesn't feel like protesting, though. “That really is a very precious thing indeed.”

Hiromasa leans his head against Seimei's shoulder. “I'm just glad I was able to help.”

Seimei leans against Hiromasa in return. “You always do, you beautiful, ridiculous man.”

“What was that about mirrors again?” Hiromasa will need to find a way to use mirrors in a poem, a way to immortalize what has happened here, at least between the two of them.

“Of course you're my mirror. Even when I strove to deny it, the truth was always there, shining down on us from the sky.” Seimei's fingers stroke the back of Hiromasa's neck, a teasing, promising touch. “But, again—I'm disgusting right now. Let's fix that.”

_You truly are a fox, in so many ways._ Hiromasa thinks the words, but he doesn't say them. He suspects they would be too much, too soon, and though he is usually honest, he is also tactful and kind when he is able to be. “I would very much like that.”

He follows Seimei happily, looking back towards the garden as he does. There are still too many trees, and the darkness between them is still deep and inviting, but it's less... intimidating than it had been before. Less threatening, and more inviting.

And heavens help him, Hiromasa is going to enjoy following that invitation wherever it may lead.


End file.
